I am a hurricane. Anxiety flows through my veins, tears stream down my face. Depression is drowning me. Slowly my walls are breaking, my shell is cracking as the waves continue to pumble me. My hand's keep breaking the surface trying to grab A hold of anything. Anyone. Nobody seems to see me, I just get pulled down deeper when someone glances my way.
I sit at the bottom of the lake with puffed out cheeks waiting for the tides to change and the currents to die. Maybe then I can rise up to let the fire in my chest light once more. My light may break through, guiding others through ghe dark. Be the hand that I was never given. Together we may learn to float instead of sink, be there to help one another along when the currents again grow ruff. We will learn one day, we are not a hurricane, we are a forest fire.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryShe had a dream, that one day someone will read her work and not see her, but her heart. These are my "journal entries" in more of a English paper kind of way I guess... I just needed somewhere to maybe have a chance at someone reading them.
